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TITLE: "Masterpiece"
AUTHOR: Brenda (brenda @
ORIGINAL STORY: Remix of Pacify by lovewithapathy.
FEATURING: Viggo Mortensen, Dominic Monaghan, Orlando Bloom, Kate Bosworth
SUMMARY: Viggo does not believe in destroying life. He only believes in taking in lives that are already destroyed.
NOTES: Written for the 2005 Remix. The beginning quote is an amalgam of David Bowie lyrics, and I apologize in advance for desecrating his words.

DISCLAIMER: The author makes no claims or inferences to reality or truthfulness. Moreover, this story is based upon the work of another author and recognises their creation.

* * * * *

like a portrait in a leper messiah

There is only one rule.

They donít mention his name. And they never, under any circumstances, mention hers.

i need to see you.

and hello to you, too.


donít start. you know iíll be there.


The iridescent black shadow glides on as smooth as cold silk, heavy and liquid, weighing his eyes down. Dom holds still, still as a churchmouse, careful not to breathe or wince or hiss as Viggo takes a considering step back, turns his chin to the light. His face feels stretched, odd, misshapen. Not like his. Never his.

fresh bruises?

you know me, vig.

theyíre perfect.

The mirror along the wall reflects a smear of pancake concealer on either cheek, quick fingers circling skin, smudging pale color over a golden tan. Not quite covering the deep grooves under his eyes, the shadows that no amount of makeup can cover. Broken, broken, like Humpty Dumpty or one of his men, and thatís all they are, broken and trapped, victims of their own making.

when do you think weíll be done?

we wonít.

iím serious.

so am i. now, hush, youíll ruin the eyeliner.

The television is on in the background, mute testament on continuous repeat, flashing the same glorious and bright images. They look so perfect, arm in arm, walking down the red carpet together. Perfect and flawless. Her wide, adoring eyes, his brilliant smile, their twined hands. The diamond flashing against her throat, the splash of color in his tie, their synchronized steps. Everything colorful and beautiful in the world, everything warm and alive.

i canít stop thinking about her.

i know.

you think youíll ever stop thinking about him?

your lips arenít dark enough yet. sit still.

Shadows flicker, throw the bare, cold room into stark relief. Domís skin puckers under the gentle assault, brushes and color making war on his face. A war of liquid and powder, austere black against white skin. Dark, like the color of his open, friendly eyes. Pale, like the color of her skin, flawless and smooth and forever out of reach. A war neither Dom nor Viggo can win, because itís been lost since before they knew there was a war to lose.

if only i could make you flawless...

no oneís flawless.

yes, they are. thatís why weíre here.

The wig fits snug, black curls covering his ears, his biggest imperfection. The contacts make his eyes look large, ethereal. The tear tracks course deep rivers through his cheeks, leave negative impressions on artificial, pale skin. Viggo works in furious silence, large hands now a blur, wringing Domís flesh into the proper shape, changing, shifting, coaxing.

why do you do this to me?

because you let me.

Viggo doesnít make him bleed, Viggo doesnít scar. Viggo only promises, with every brush stroke of powder and liner, promises and lies. Viggo doesnít believe in violence, but that doesnít stop him from breaking Dom all the same.

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